


All Is Calm, All Is Bright

by theglamourfades



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, F/M, Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: A Christmas past, present and future, and a few carols too. Canon era Anna x Bates.





	1. Chapter 1

" _Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"_

_The Spirit was immovable as ever._

_Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge._

" _Am I that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees._

_The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again._

" _No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"_

_The finger still was there._

" _Spirit!" he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"_

_For the first time the hand appeared to shake._

" _Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: "Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!"_

_The kind hand trembled._

" _I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"_

John Bates sat at the table, the worn copy of the familiar book in his upturned palms. He was not a fan of Dickens especially but he had made reading  _A Christmas Carol_  an annual tradition in recent times. He supposed that he considered it to be a cautionary tale of a man so blinded by his own greed and selfishness that he had lost sense of all that was truly important in life. It had become a ritual first started in the near depths of despair and one he dare not forego since, knowing that once he had come dangerously close to losing faith in his own humanity, risked becoming a figure both despised and pitied in equal measure.

He may not have been a miser like Ebenezer Scrooge but he could all too clearly see shades of the character's darkness in himself; a man who had become something he had never wanted to be, all by the crafting of his own hand.

His revelation had come to him in another guise – from the part of him that had not, miraculously, been sacrificed beyond redemption. It was by a wonderful stroke of luck that just as he had chosen to listen to that better side of himself he also heard word that the Earl of Grantham was looking to employ a new valet.

How different circumstances might have been. Even now, having read the story some twenty times or more through the course of his life, it never failed to cause a shiver to chill him to the very bones. He had often considered the merriment of the season to be a clever charade, masking sentiments that were far more sorrowful. Mourning the memory of dear ones that had departed. Regretting opportunities that had flown past, unnoticed or otherwise unappreciated. It made perfect sense to him that a tale that was essentially a ghost story, of both the dead and the living, had become the most cherished fable of the holiday.

His outlook had been changed a little. The first Christmas he had spent as a resident of Downton Abbey twelve months ago had been the most joyful he had experienced in a long while; certainly since the last that was spent with just him and his dear mother. When he had entered into the doomed venture that was marriage to Vera she had been keen to keep the longer-known Mrs Bates out of the picture, even as his mother's friends and remaining family were steadily eroded as the months, never mind years, passed.

One by one, lights that he had believed to be forever extinguished glimmered again in his line of vision. There had been decorations, preparations and tasks to be carried out by the list. Purpose. Sumptuous food which was not only reserved for the Crawleys. Presents, too. As if they had not been generous enough by giving him a chance to begin again, valued so heartily. Kind words and friendship, joyful smiles and gleeful laughter. There had been music which lasted beyond the moment of listening and much singing.

The singing was going on at the very moment, several voices chorusing in tandem, turning the inhabitants of the servants' hall into a makeshift choir. He smiled as he listened, head bowed and his better foot tapping out a rhythm against the floor below.

"Not joining in, Mr Bates?" A less than melodic voice came from behind his shoulder, sneering in the tone that he had come to expect as the norm. "You could at least make a bit of an effort, rather than burying your nose in a dusty old book."

"I don't hear you making much of an effort, either." He didn't turn to acknowledge the footman. He'd had a very pleasant Christmas Eve and had no wishes for it to be soured, especially with so little of it left. "Unless I don't happen to have an ear that is tuned to your baritone."

"I did my bit earlier on. Not that His Lordship could give two hoots."

A thick cloud of smoke floated quite purposely in his direction, causing his nostrils to flare. He'd curbed the habit considerably in the past few months, and the stench that came from Thomas's particular brand of cigarettes turned his stomach. He realised precisely why Anna was so repulsed by the act.

"Anyway, I'm off to bed. This had better not last for much longer."

He had the sudden, rather roguish urge to join in the revelry, singing a song with a numerous amount of verses at the top of his lungs purposely to keep Thomas awake. Then again, the footman's usual partner-in-crime had already departed from the servants' own gathering, as had Mr Carson.

"This is early for you." He closed the volume that had remained open in his hands, casting a solitary glance over his shoulder. "Are you trying to atone, so that you might get your wish come morning?"

"I'm afraid I won't get what I wish for as long as you're here, Mr Bates. But as it's the season of goodwill and all, I suppose I should be pleased that you at least pretend to care."

John stifled a chuckle for as long as he heard muted footsteps against the tinkling of the piano and the harmonious, jolly singing that was building to a crescendo. Tom Branson, who had been leading the voices in that particular song, took a bow as those assembled around the table applauded with gusto, offering William a hearty pat on the back for the musical accompaniment.

Though he tried with all the strength in him not to look to one spot in the room he found that he was utterly helpless. Any willpower that he possessed dissolved to almost nothing when he was in the light of even the smallest of her smiles.

He felt that it was better when they were in a large group, such as was the case now. Better for her, at any rate. Some months had passed since she had told of her love for him, without any agenda. The words as she had spoken them on that summer's day echoed within his head and heart daily and if he closed his eyes he would envision her standing as she had on that road, glimpsing up at him with a determined and entirely open gaze, looking more radiant than he had ever seen her. The comparison was one which would not leave him alone in the time he spent walking through the flower show; as striking as the array of blooms were, none could compare to her delicate beauty.

It did not mean that he did not still seek out her sole company in quieter moments. On occasions whereby he should have known better. She appeared to be drawn to him like a magnet – or perhaps it was the other way around, considering she was the one whose force field was so strong. He rehearsed the apologies countless times, practised gentle smiles and looks that were meant to deter her, and yet he found that he could not refuse her when she came to him, an ever-faithful and confiding ear to listen to her stories. He took his own delight in the lilt of her voice, the specific cadences when she gasped in recounted surprise or giggled helplessly in a fit of joy which he was only too happy to share in.

As much as she breathed new life into him whenever they talked or simply sat in silence, he could not shake the feeling that he was draining it from her. God knows he had strong feelings for her but he was unable to give her what she so richly deserved. He did not trust his love; it had been twisted in its judgement before. If anyone was able to renew it to wholeness and lead it back down the right path then surely it was Anna. But it was not a burden he could ask her to bear and it would never be fair to her, to take on a man as damaged as he was, even if the cracks were very gradually being filled in.

He was not Scrooge, he considered, but rather much closer to Jacob Marley. The heavy chains that he had forged – by his own doing, the reckless decisions of an impetuous youth – would hang around him for the rest of his life and even beyond, dooming him forever. Vera would never grant him a divorce, even if he knew where to begin in consigning the whole miserable business to the past. And so as much as it pained him to his very soul he would continue to conceal what was in his heart, as much as he could stop it from naturally emerging.

Wearing his shackles was one thing but to bind them to another – the truest of innocents – would be his damnation.

"Well, that's certainly livened things up," Mrs Hughes spoke over the still raucous reception to Branson's lively singing. "I think that I'll need to have a wee dram if only in the hope of getting off to sleep at all tonight."

"Any excuse," Mrs Patmore said with a hint of mischief, propping herself up against the back of a chair. "I enjoyed it."

"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," Branson smiled, pulling out a seat. "It was one of my da's favourites, he'd lead the whole family in a rendition every Christmas. I would have thought that you'd know it, Mr Bates."

John looked towards the younger man, a small smile quickly replacing his deadpan expression.

"No, I'm afraid it's a new one on me."

He shuffled against the wooden seat, hoping to escape calls for him to be the next to perform. There'd be more reason to worry if Thomas or Miss O'Brien had still been downstairs and would almost certainly be eager to embarrass him to the highest degree. As it was, none of the party still assembled would have meant harm in any request.

William turned his head from his seat at the piano, playing a softer melody upon the keys.

"Something calmer then. Anna," the more amiable footman called in a gently jostling tone, "will you give us a tune?"

John watched as she placed a hand upon her breastbone, shaking her head but still wearing a wide smile, assuming no offence.

"I couldn't possibly follow that," she pleaded, twisting slightly to aim her gaze at the chauffeur. "I don't know about Mr Carson but I think that you missed your calling on the stage, Mr Branson."

"I wouldn't last an hour before I was thrown out," Branson replied with an easy smile.

"Oh, go on, Anna," Daisy piped up from the corner of the room, "you've got such a lovely voice. I wish mine was as half as nice as yours."

"Go away with you," she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and then fiddling with her hands as she stood, pushing her chair away from the table. "Alright, then. But don't expect an encore."

She smiled to the room but threw a particular glance to him, her eyes shining in the low light. He returned it with an encouraging look of his own, though he was certain that she hardly needed a boost from him.

After a moment or two she leant down to whisper in William's ear, and the footman played a few opening notes before she joined in, her voice holding clear and unwavering.

_Silent night, holy night_

_All is calm, all is bright_

_Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child,_

_Holy infant so tender and mild_

_Sleep in heavenly peace_

_Sleep in heavenly peace_

He was frozen in his spot, unable to take but the slightest of breaths so that he would not interrupt the beautiful harmony. He was already aware that she had a fine voice, heard it drown out his own singing as they stood side by side in the church pew. Hearing her sing solo, accompanied only by the piano playing the simplest of melodies, was a brand new revelation. She sounded so clear, every note pitched perfectly, her conviction enough to bring a congregation to its feet in quiet and admiring praise and to make those who did not formerly believe – such as himself – fall to their knees and offer themselves over.

A wave of intense feeling welled up within him, evidenced by the tears that were gathering in his eyes.

_Silent night, holy night_

_Shepherds quake at the sight_

_Glories stream from heaven afar_

_Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia_

_Christ the Saviour is born_

_Christ the Saviour is born_

The room was quite full but as far as he was concerned there was no occupant other than her. Such a pure sound streaming from her lips. He was now more convinced than ever before that she had been called forth specifically from the most wondrous places, unknown by mere mortals.

For those sacred moments, when all of the rest of the house had fallen into a hush, he felt incredibly calm. Serenity was a phenomenon that he had encountered rarely in his life. There was also the fact that carols had always made him feel uncomfortable, even as a child when he had not been old enough to question. Afterwards he would reason that it should have been momentous. And it most certainly was, only not in the way he was expecting.

Her face was aglow, eyes though serious and fully absorbed still holding their sparkle. A quality she always seemed to be in possession of, no matter how dark the night became.

For those moments he was free. She had absolved him of all regret and guilt, the agony he still held within himself. His bruised and battered heart well on its way to healing completely and he was able to open it up, to stop the love he reciprocated from being a secret.

Only for as long as the song endured. When it came to its conclusion – and he was sorry that it could not last for the rest of time – the shutters closed within his chest once more.

She was worthy of so much more.

Awed silence was followed by rapturous applause; evidently, he had not been the only one captivated by the performance. She dipped her head amidst the noise, a soft smile upon her face and a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

The blood was too tight in his veins, his legs were tingling. He might have otherwise explained the sensations away and far more easily by saying that he had been sitting for too long. The scrape of his chair against the floor was a painfully obstructive sound following something so heavenly and he could feel the curious eyes of the younger maids gathered in the corner and hall-boys who had come in from the corridor to be able to hear better upon him as he got to his feet, his palms beating together with such fervour that they had already started to sting.

Branson quickly followed suit, though he had not seen John doing so, and then William stood from his seat at the piano so that she received quite the ovation.

"Oh, Anna," Mrs Hughes exclaimed from her seat, emotion evident by the clutching of her hand at her chest as well as the quiver in her voice, "that was beautiful."

"It were so much better than Lady Mary," Daisy said in a dramatic whisper, not raising her voice likely for fearing that the named lady of the house would become aware and dole out some kind of punishment for daring to be so impudent.

"I don't think so," Anna herself modestly dismissed the notion, placing a thankful hand on the girl's shoulder as she passed. "I do love that one."

She did not take her previous seat at the table; instead she seized the chair at his side. John felt himself flush with heat at having her so close by, sharing an acknowledging glance before he stared down at the book in front of him, opened once more.

The party dispersed gradually, leaving season's greetings in the room before departing for bed. William was the last to go until they were left alone, closing the lid over the piano keys which had brought forth such merriment and revelation.

"Goodnight, Anna, Mr Bates. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, William," Anna echoed, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

"Sleep well," John wished the younger man, doing what he could to ignore the sight. Any envy he felt was most certainly misplaced, as well he knew.

She smiled at him, the colour still in her cheeks, reaching across the table to bring one of the candles closer.

"Will you be staying up long?"

He shook his head. "I'll finish this upstairs. Not that I couldn't recite it by heart." A chuckle started within his chest as he lowered his gaze. "You never know who may turn up, almost unannounced."

Anna laughed in response, giving a nod of understanding. The candlelight illuminated her features, a couple of loose strands straying free from her otherwise immaculate bun.

"Maybe next year you could give us all a reading. It'd make a bit of a change from the music."

His smile was slow to start, and the room being almost in darkness did not help matters.

"Not that I'd ever want to..." she began with a worried-sounding falter in her voice that made his chest ache. "I know you don't like being the centre of attention. Which makes a very good change."

He raised his gaze to her, whereby his true emotion could be read - or at least most of it.

"Well, I know that singing is not my forte. And certainly not when standing next to you."

She looked down in the same manner as she had done on finishing her turn, briefer this time until she looked him in the eyes again. The smile that he found there did nothing to help his case.

"I wish you'd sing a bit louder. You're nowhere near as bad as you think you are."

"Is that your Christmas wish?" he replied softly, not knowing what else to say.

She gave a short shrug of her shoulders and he knew that she had wanted to give another answer; one which he could not bear to hear, for knowing he would have to dismiss it.

"I suppose that it is."

He smiled, thankful that the lack of light could not display his deep regret to her. She had given her heart to him, and though he was the least worthy recipient, it was the greatest gift that he could ever have.

"Well, I cannot disappoint. I shall bring up some water with honey and lemon. That's good for the voice, isn't it? Though I'm afraid that not even a miracle can make up for my shortcomings."

She replied with the same softness as always, too willing to think the best of him.

With his acquiescence she extinguished the remaining candles, leaving him in the shadows.

"Goodnight, Mr Bates." She hesitated before she spoke again. "May I be the first to say it?"

Never had anything sounded sweeter to his ears, save for her earlier rendition.

"Merry Christmas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the title was a bit of a clue :) (I know Mary does sing Silent Night in S5 CS, but I think Anna would sing it absolutely beautifully too)
> 
> A Christmas Carol is by Charles Dickens, with that particular passage coming from 'The Last of the Spirits'.


	2. Chapter 2

" _For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself."_

-  _A Christmas Carol_ , Charles Dickens

* * *

It was all the more special when it snowed at Christmas, but the weather was something that could very rarely be relied upon. She remembered to this day of her childhood years – at least up until when her dear father died, as that was when her childhood had come to a premature end – and the one thing she asked for each Christmas, without fail or respite. The couple of presents she received from her parents were always greatly appreciated and much loved; she was instilled with a strong sense of gratitude from a tender age, as was her sister. Their family was not a rich one, except in the amount of love that was apparent in their household.

_William Smith could barely hide the grin on his face as he read the note – for it could hardly be called a list – passed to him ever so earnestly by his eldest daughter, stood with wide eyes and feet set apart in front of him._

" _Well, Anna, my darling," he said, managing to disguise the amusement in his voice so as not to trivialise his child's innocent wish, "I'm not sure if Father Christmas can bring you snow for Christmas morning."_

" _But Daddy," her blue eyes held more determination than was even usual, her face clear and hopefully expectant, "you said that Father Christmas is magic, and that he can grant good children anything that they would like."_

_She turned from his exuberant, happy little Anna to being very solemn and serious on the turn of a coin, her bottom lip beginning to tremble – a sight that he could never bear to see._

" _Unless I haven't been good?"_

_He did not delay in scooping her up from her spot on the floor, giving her a loving squeeze before settling her in his lap as he sat in the battered old armchair._

" _Oh, Anna, my girl. Of course you've been good. You're the best helper that I could have."_

_She gave a beaming smile, out of sheer love and dedication rather than pride; he could tell that quite easily._

" _And you still give me a big hug at the end of every day when I'm all dusty, and smell terrible from mucking out the animals."_

_She proceeded to do just that, throwing her small arms about his shoulders and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, causing him to chortle in delight._

" _Now, you mustn't tell anyone else," he imparted in a hushed tone, "but out of all of the children there are in the world I am almost certain that you are near the top of the list for being the most good there can be."_

_The grin filled her rosy cheeks, made ruddier than normal by the cold air from outside where she had been playing before the sun had set for another day._

" _So does that mean that Father Christmas will bring the snow?"_

_He pondered for a moment or two, not keen to bend the truth in front of his daughter but also aware that he would feel much worse if he disappointed her so sorely with the notion of what was more likely to become true._

" _I don't see why not." He wrapped his arms tighter about his darling Anna, drawing her closer. "Not when he knows that Anna May Smith asked, and did so very politely."_

_He was incredibly proud of the way she was turning out so far, putting it down to her own self-forged nature and innate character just as much as any influence he or his wife had. And her hugs and smiles were the things that he cherished most of all in life._

" _Now, I'm not sure what the cows will make of it. And the sheep probably won't find it much fun, either."_

_A pair of blue eyes stared up at him, bemused by what he had said._

" _Don't be a silly beggar, Daddy," she uttered, picking up already on her mother's turn of phrase. "The cows have plenty of hay, and the sheep have their woolly jumpers!"_

_He couldn't stop himself from chuckling heartily, realising that his five year old daughter's reasoning made perfect sense._

" _Well then, there's nothing more to do but to wait for the first fall to come."_

So far there had been no flakes falling from the sky in even the smallest of flurries, never mind a drift that would keep them in the cottage until the week was out. It had been cold enough for it, alright. She couldn't help but feeling rather disappointed. Snow this Christmas would have most certainly made it the most magical of them all. It had snowed a bit last year but too soon for the season, with it all melting away by the day before Christmas Eve.

The next they had seen was on the morning of New Year's Day. Or rather, John had told her about it, fussing over her and telling her to stay put, his gaze completely and utterly lovestruck as he looked down upon their perfect newborn son, only hours old.

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise; her greatest wish from years gone by greeting the one she had kept in her heart since before she had even become Mrs John Bates in name.

The white blanket that covered the grounds of the Abbey was gone by the time they had departed back to their own cottage a day later and no further snowfall had come down all of last winter, somewhat to her dismay. John had preferred it, not much liking the snow for practical reasons but fretting about the chance of its arrival more so now that they had their little one out in the world.

" _I have a present for you. Well, it's a present for Will, technically."_

_She grinned towards her husband, still in his bowler and overcoat as he stood in the doorway, smelling of evening air and winter. In contrast the bulk of their baby son's little body was so warm in her arms; he was like her own little portable heater._

_Will was reaching his arms out, flexing his tiny fingers towards John and making excited squealing sounds. He was far more interested in seeing his Da again after too many hours than whatever was in the box he had brought home with him._

" _But of course," she exclaimed, twirling the ends of the silky ribbon that made a decorative bow around the box in her fingers, "I don't suppose that I can expect anything for several Christmases now, can I?"_

_He tipped his chin to his chest, a twinkle glimmering in his eyes._

_She smoothed a hand over the top, turning her head towards their boy and bouncing him upwards slightly._

" _Shall we see what's inside, sweet pea? What has Da been spoiling you with now?"_

_Undoing the bow, she dipped Will down slightly to let him have a peek inside the box before unveiling what was inside._

_She laughed as she plucked the ornament out. It wasn't too much of a weight to hold in one hand as she kept Will clutched to her side, and gave it a shake by way of demonstration but more so out of pure instinct._

" _Look, Will," she cooed, her mouth close to the shell of their precious boy's ear, "that's the snow falling down."_

_Will was held in fascination, his blue eyes shining bright as he watched the miniature flakes swirl around and around, creating a swift blizzard within the little globe. In its centre, in the middle of the storm, was a cosy-looking cottage, almost a replica of their own beloved home._

" _Much less colder than the real thing," John observed in a half-serious tone, "and nothing of a nuisance."_

_She tutted, giving it a final shake before placing it down onto the table for the time being._

" _You do know that you can't keep it away if it's going to come?" she teased, a look of sheer excitement covering her face. "We want the snow here, don't we, Will?"_

_He babbled happily, which she took to be affirmation of his agreement._

" _Two against one, I'm afraid, Mr Bates. And I happen to know that Father Christmas is a fan, too."_

_She couldn't stop herself from smiling as her husband shook his head in disagreement. Having walked over towards the both of them he held the hand that had carried his cane out and smiled broadly as their boy grasped hold of one of his fingers with a chubby fist._

" _He comes here to get a break from it," he argued with great conviction, staring with wide eyes towards their son who stared back just as intently. "He brings his reindeer all the way over to Downton, where it is nice and calm and dry."_

_His free hand reached out to tickle at one of Will's rosy cheeks, and she watched the interaction of father and son with a heart that was fit to bursting._

" _And where he can bring lots of presents made by his elves especially for a boy by the name of William Bates."_

_He never gave their son his full title, middle name and all, and she knew it was out of humility of the highest order. For her own part she couldn't be prouder that her darling boy bore the name of his wonderful father and remained glad that she had got her own way about it, even if it had took a little persuasion._

_She hugged Will close to her, bobbing him up and down as if he were a tumbling snowflake himself while John shook the globe gently in his own hands in front of their eyes._

" _He said that you could have this one early, for being so good."_

_William gurgled and smiled, his little hands reaching out again – this time with the intention of catching the falling snow._

" _And you are the best boy there is," she whispered to him, placing several kisses on his cheek as she held him securely around his middle._

She picked up the ornament briefly from the fireplace where it had been planted ever since that evening had passed, and beamed a smile on tipping it completely upside down. Though he had not needed to John had gone to the trouble of getting an inscription engraved onto the base. A Christmas that would always be remembered. Happy tears pricked at her eyes as she ran a fingertip over the beautiful cursive writing.

_~William's First Christmas – 1926~_

The Christmas they had been waiting for for ever so long, and the happiest one that could be known.

She gave it a small shake, watching the contents inside twirl and dance within the small half-circle of glass before they came to a settle that was faster than in reality. Looped around the thumb of her other hand was the satin hanger of the small stocking that she had knitted twelve months previously, when she felt like she was the size of a house and was utterly restless with nervous and excited anticipation, needing a million things to fill the moments that she was kept waiting for his arrival. In the last couple of weeks she had sewn a 'W' in red cotton onto the folded top so there was absolutely no doubt to whom it belonged. She pinned it up in its place right in the middle of the fireplace, with the 'A' and 'J' stockings hanging to either side, and placed the snow-globe directly above it.

She'd had to stuff the stocking with a ball of wool and some other materials she had found in one of her sewing bags. All the presents they had bought for him were much too big to fit inside it. It occurred to her that given the age he was at that Will would be much more enchanted with the wool anyway. They had not gone too much over the top, considering not only his tender age but also that there was another momentous occasion to celebrate just a few days later, and now all of them were sitting wrapped under the tree, waiting for a pair of tiny hands to tear eagerly into them come the morning.

Aside from Will's gifts there were a few others; once John had retired upstairs for the night she had brought out his presents from where she had kept them hidden in the pantry. Over the last couple of days she had baked some biscuits dusted with sugar and cinnamon as well as put the finishing touches to a Christmas pudding, following Mrs Patmore's recipe almost to the letter. While John popped in and out of the kitchen, remarking on how good everything smelt, she teased him the edible treats were all he would be getting. The look on his face had been so earnest and appreciative that she expected he wouldn't have minded at all if that had really been the case.

Instead, a trip to visit Mrs Hughes at her own cottage was the pretence for the pair of them along with Will going into Ripon one afternoon earlier in the month, seeking presents for their respective husbands. She counted herself very lucky that John was far easier to buy for than Mr Carson; the afternoon turned out to be a little longer than either of them expected due to Mrs Hughes' need to go on an extensive search for something that would both suit and meet with his approval. Luckily there had already been something in her own mind and she was pleased to find what she was after in the second shop they browsed. A new leather valise which would accommodate him on his future travels with His Lordship; the old one was long past its best, but he didn't seem to want to get rid of it. Along with some new gloves, socks she had knitted and a couple of books, he was set.

Of course what thrilled her the most about the gifts she had arranged for her husband were the tags she had written to accompany them. Each was addressed to ' _Dearest Da_ ' and signed with ' _lots of love and kisses, from William and Mummy'_.

Everything looked perfect; there was not the smallest of details she could add. There were crumbs left on the plate from the mince pie that had been polished off by John, and she herself had taken a bite out of the carrot that had lay beside it.

She stifled a yawn climbing the stairs, the preparation of the last few weeks finally catching up with her.

As was her usual routine for almost a whole year she forewent the comforting lure of her own bed in favour of standing for a long while by the cot where her son slept, watching for the slightest movement and listening for the quietest murmur that might tell of any discomfort. As was usual he was serene in slumber and she delighted in the little pouting of his lips and the way in which his tiny fists curled into balls either side of him. His breathing was soft and even, providing her with a lullaby of her own.

"My little love," she murmured, placing a hand down into the crib and resting it gently upon his stomach.

His legs flailed a little; evidence of some lovely dream, she hoped. Aside from that movement and the odd small noise here and there, he didn't stir.

As good as gold.

Feeling just as much at peace but with a giddy sense of joy still possessing her, she couldn't stop the melody from leaving her lips just as swiftly as it had entered her head, not taking her eyes away from the sight of her precious boy for a second.

_Away in a manger_

_No crib for a bed_

_The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head_

_The stars in the bright sky_

_Looked down where he lay_

_The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay_

She smiled while she paused in the hymn, absorbing the presence of their baby asleep in his comfy bed and the particular night that was passing – in so many respects so much like any other that had come and gone in the last few months, but also holding something quite special within it.

She had always hoped and prayed. Wished upon the brightest star and at times thought it a silly superstition, especially on the nights that seemed like endless dark.

 _When all seems lost, you must never give up hope. Not for as long as there are stars in the sky._ Her very dear dad. She liked to think he was up there amongst them, looking down upon her with the same proud smile he so often wore.

Her most darling boy, named for the grandfather he would know only through her retellings and the father he already loved with all of his little heart.

_The cattle are lowing_

_The baby awakes_

_But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes_

_I love thee, Lord Jesus_

_Look down from the sky_

_And stay by my side until morning is nigh_

She stroked a gentle hand to one of his cheeks, raising it to the downy hair upon his head, marvelling all over again at the sheer fact of him.

She was aware of the lamplight going out in the bathroom and of John's footsteps landing back against the floorboards of the bedroom. He smelt of soap and shaving foam, often choosing to undertake the task last thing at night now so that he needn't miss out on a moment of Will's company when their boy was awake.

"You're singing again," he made the observation, fitting his arms snugly about her waist.

She snuffed and smiled, leaning her body against his. "Do I do it too much this time of year?"

"There can never be enough, in my opinion."

The slight chill she felt evaporated when he pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips wonderfully warm and soft.

"It's silly really," she remarked, "I'm more excited than he is."

She felt the rumble of his chest against her back.

"For now, yes. But give it a couple of years. He'll be waking us up at dawn, bouncing up and down on the bed."

The image made her even more excitable as she conjured it in her head, not sure whether she could envisage their bedroom as it was now or somewhere else entirely.

"You'll be longing for the days where you could wake up natural," he joked, his mouth brushing lightly against her earlobe.

She pulled herself up from exclaiming too loud so that she wouldn't wake Will.

"I think I got to do that, oh, once?" She moved herself around in his arms, her eyes alight as she smiled up towards him, seeing the happiness she felt reflected in his own gaze. "And I don't care if I never get to do it again, for as long as I live."

With her hands steepled upon his chest, she gazed back towards the cot in the corner of the room.

"I'm going to happily get up before dawn every Christmas Day from now on, just so I can be up before he is."

John wore a smile of understanding upon his face, rubbing his hands against her back.

"Well, there's not too long before then, so we'd better try and get some sleep."

She rose onto her tiptoes, her eyes closing as she brushed her lips to his, beaming towards him as she pulled back slowly.

"That's if I can at all."

He shook his head, affection written all over his being. Soon enough they bundled themselves into bed, talking for a little while before they drifted into dreams of the near and the slightly more distant future.

Perhaps by the time morning arrived there would even be snow, the first real kind that Will would see.

What a present that would be.


	3. Chapter 3

" _His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him. He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us!"_

 _-_ _A Christmas Carol_ , Charles Dickens

* * *

Christmas was one of the busiest times of the year. In his 'old life' he could not have conceived of anywhere matching or indeed topping Downton Abbey, that grand residence, when it came to hustle and bustle and a stupendous whirlwind of preparations as the festive season approached.

That was, of course, until three years previous. The Swallow Bank Inn was not as opulent or vast as the stately seat belonging to the Granthams but it gave just as much occupation to its owners – if not more than their former place of employment. There were few weeks in the whole year when their residency was not at least three quarters full, and both Anna and John were incredibly grateful for it, sometimes finding it hard to fathom the degree to which fortune leaned so heavily in their favour. But neither questioned it too extensively.

Perhaps it was the clean break that did it, though they were barely two miles out of Downton, and popped back for visits whenever their schedules would allow.

It was also the case that the sun had shone upon them relentlessly – even in the coldest depths of winter – ever since New Year's Eve 1925. Since that most momentous and memorable day which had changed their lives forever they had been blessed with three more children, all of whom they cherished and adored as much their first-born. In so many ways they thought of each of them as their lucky charms, bringing incredible amounts of love into their lives and teaching them so much too. It most certainly could not be denied that they were the luckiest people on earth to have such an abundance of joy that persisted throughout the year.

The first Christmas they had spent as proprietors had been a rather surprising affair, being caught off-guard and not quite used to the rhythms and routines of the place. Since then John in particular had paid mind to the calendar and set the wheels in motion for the festivities as far in advance as the beginning of the autumn. His efforts had paid off to great effect last year and they were shaping up to do the same this season, which was a great relief. All of the food had been delivered and was in the processes of being prepared, entertainment had been arranged for the next day. Barring any unexpected illness from their small number of staff, all was on track and could not have gone smoother.

The hard work that had been carried out over the last few weeks meant that now, on Christmas Eve, he was more than entitled to a just reward, knowing that all was well taken care of.

A rush of warmth greeted him on the moment he stepped over the threshold of the adjoining cottage, a wreath on the door and candles glowing in the window denoting the time of year. Yet it was only when inside could any visitor truly feel the joy and excitement which heralded the close arrival of Christmas in this particular household.

He shrugged off his coat, hooking it along with his hat and scarf in the hallway. The wonderful scents drifted through from the kitchen to meet him, causing his stomach to grumble in anticipation; he would have to resist temptation and save himself for the feast that would later be in store, but surely a freshly-baked biscuit or two would not do too much to harm his appetite.

Sound was in fierce competition with smell for claiming the prize of dominant sense. The squeals of two very excitable little girls could be heard throughout the house, along with the most heartwarming giggles of a baby who was growing at an alarming speed with each day that passed.

A wide grin already occupied his face before he even made it through the doorframe leading into the kitchen, so often the hub of activity in their home and no different this early evening.

Anna was pottering about, apron around her waist and her hair hung in a loose braid, little Robbie planted to her hip. The twins were sitting at the table, which was strewn in loops of paper in all sorts of bright colours. They were so absorbed in their task that they were almost oblivious to his arrival; that was until he had been greeted by a shimmering smile from Anna, who announced a cheery " _look who's home"_  to them.

Not five seconds later both girls had climbed down from their seats and had ambushed him, running around his legs and almost knocking his cane to the floor in their giddiness.

"Look what we've been doing, Daddy," Emma held out one of the paper chains in both of her hands, the length of that particular one so much that it sagged onto the floor, almost too much for her to hold.

Charlotte had instead elected to model the chain she had in her possession in a makeshift crown sitting on top of her head.

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the sight, never failing to be overwhelmed by love for their beautiful daughters.

"Mummy said there are enough for next year too."

Anna glanced over from the corner of the room, her smile furnishing her cheeks as their youngest child wriggled in her arms.

"Certainly so. We'll have to keep them for every year, we can't let such fine handiwork go unnoticed."

"They get that from you," Anna remarked whilst Robbie jostled for her attention, his pudgy hand attracted to the end of her braid.

The comment caused John to smile yet wider; he always considered her talents in that area to be far superior to his own.

Both girls hopped upon the floor, Emma now having followed the lead from her sister and wearing her chain like a necklace.

"They are the most marvellous decorations I have ever seen," he exclaimed with authority, eliciting happy grins from his daughters. "And I am sure that all of the guests will say the same when they see them pinned up in the dining room. We'll bring them over tonight."

The girls cheered in victory, Charlotte beginning to skip around the table trailing her chain behind her.

"But, Daddy," Emma said suddenly, a startled expression clouding her glee, "we have to make snowflakes too, and we haven't done that yet!"

"We were waiting for you to get home, Daddy," Charlotte added, clambering back onto the chair she had been sitting on, blonde head just about peeking over the top of the table.

Like their mother and their eldest brother, the twins were enchanted by anything to do with snow, and making snowflakes proved to be their favourite out of all the decorations they could possibly dream up.

"Of course," John replied, with not a hint of weariness in his voice even though he had been up since not much past half five that morning, "what would a Christmas be without snowflakes? You girls make a start on folding and I won't be a second."

"And make sure you tell Daddy when you want to use the scissors," Anna warned, any sternness apparent in her tone softened considerably by the love that was also held there.

"Yes, Mummy," the girls chorused in unison.

With both of them seated once more at the table, happily plucking up sheets of white paper, and with Robbie bundled in Anna's arms now that she had finished seeing to all the baking, there was just the one noticeable absentee from the family scene.

"Where's Will?" John asked, draping his jacket over the back of one of the empty chairs.

Anna rose her eyes to the ceiling, with baby Robbie lifting his head to follow suit.

"Practising," she answered, a smile in her eyes.

Bracing an arm against the counter, John shook his head. Theirs was very much a family business – the main reason for taking on a hotel formulated years before their children came along in an unusually quiet servants' hall – and the guests were very frequently delighted by the presence of the little ones in the dining room or 'sweeping up' in the corridors. He did not have the intention of involving them in the Christmas celebrations – which were still so new that they could hardly be called tradition as yet – until they were much older, save for them making decorations and greeting the gathered crowd with waves and smiles.

He recalled being rather taken aback when William had knocked on the door of his office in the hotel, looking perfectly serious as he asked whether he might sing a carol especially at the Christmas Eve dinner. The very notion of a host of people watching him whilst he raised his voice in song was his idea of a living nightmare. However it seemed that his eldest child had not taken after him in that respect, and he supposed that he should have been glad of the fact that Will was imbued with a greater confidence at such a young age.

As the days went by he wondered if he ought to say something, reassure his son that there was not the slightest need for him to go through with the performance – that, indeed, on this one occasion it really was quite alright to break a promise. But every time he thought of it Will looked towards him entirely instinctively with calm and quiet determination in his blue eyes, and dare John say it, rather a lot of excitement too.

William Bates was a child who could not be easily dissuaded.

Still, John Bates wanted to make his own feelings known.

"He's been doing that every single evening since I agreed that he could sing. I don't think it's good for him to be going through it all when there's only a few hours to go."

He knew that there was a frown marking his face, though he was trying his hardest not to let it show.

As was usual, Anna provided the counterbalance to his natural pessimism.

"He wants to get it just right," she said. "I'm afraid that we have made a child who is quite the perfectionist."

John sighed, the trait one which was painfully familiar to him and that he was sorry Will had appeared to have inherited.

His eyes lifted from a unspecific spot on the floor which he was worrying over to his wife's warm and comforting gaze, her hand touching him softly just below his elbow.

"I just don't want him to feel like he  _has_ to, for our sake, not if he has changed his mind." He knew he was a terrible brooder, and that it hardly fit with the carefree cheer of the season, but he was afraid that it was something that could never be helped. "He's at a formative age. You remember things that happen to you. Especially at Christmas."

Her hand moved from his arm to trace the curve of his cheek.

"It'll all be fine," she assured him, and he found that he believed the words far more when she said them as opposed to when they flitted through his mind briefly as one possible outcome of many. "The worst that'll happen is that he'll go blank, and nobody will mind. They'll all join in to help out." She gave a slightly impish smile as her eyes continued to look into his. "Even  _you_  will."

John rolled his eyes, reluctantly smiling. Of course he would do anything for his boy, and any of their children, but he would still not prefer to sing in public if he had the choice.

Robbie started to babble and shout as he wriggled again in Anna's arms, quite distracting John from his fretting.

"Don't tell me you're going to give a solo as well, my little lad."

"I think we might not have a say in that," Anna laughed, lifting the baby into the air for a moment until he was passed over into his father's arms for a cuddle. "We may well have our very own performing troop."

John smiled wryly, making silly expressions at their youngest as he cooed contentedly.

"I suppose that it's another option if the business ever dries up."

" _Bad harvest_ ," Anna muttered almost under her breath, a superstition that caused him to smile to this day. "I'd better get him bathed and changed soon, as well as get all of these treats boxed up. Honestly, it feels like it was only morning five minutes ago."

"I can take care of something," he said, bouncing Robbie up in his arms, the boy much his mirror image. "Everything is so in hand over there that I've felt a bit like a spare part today."

"It's not a bad thing to be organised."

"No," he smiled at his wife's verdict, "it certainly isn't. Okay, little monkey, what's say we make you up a bath?"

Not that Robbie could answer in the affirmative, but before he made another sound Charlotte piped up from the table.

"Daddy, the snowflakes!"

John shook his head, as if in sudden amazement.

"Of course. I don't know how I could forget about the snowflakes."

Anna nudged her elbow against his arm, taking Robbie back into her arms.

"You're even more in demand than usual, Daddy Bates."

He threw a smile over his shoulder, watching as they both disappeared from the room, before focusing his attention back on the very important task at hand.

"Well, girls, it looks like we have enough here for an entire blizzard."

* * *

Every table in the dining room was occupied, the tall tree glittering in the corner and decorated with the paper chains and snowflakes that the girls had crafted. The Christmas Eve dinner had been served up in three courses and all of their guests were suitably full, several different hums of conversation circulating.

The chatter was briefly interrupted by Emma and Charlotte, wearing matching red velveteen dresses, who took a small bag of sugar and cinnamon biscuits cut into star shapes to each one of the tables, both doing a little curtsey as they handed the homemade gifts over. In return they were presented with warm and sincere smiles, the female guests taking time to coo and comment upon how festive they looked.

Anna looked on at the girls' progress, her heart light with joy and offering encouraging smiles whenever they went back to retrieve more bags. Their daughters had inherited her love for the season, already filled with giddiness that could barely be contained on knowing that it wouldn't be long until Father Christmas paid their little inn a visit.

"All finished, Mummy!"

"Well done, girls. You did that so beautifully."

Two shining faces beamed up at her, very happy with their efforts.

"Mummy, can we leave the leftovers out for Father Christmas?"

"That's silly, Emma," Charlotte chided her sister, "Father Christmas doesn't eat biscuits. He only eats mince pies."

"I'm sure that he can take them back for Mrs Christmas," Anna offered gently, aiming to placate both girls.

She turned to her husband who was standing by her side, dressed so smartly in his newest three-piece-suit. A flutter spun around her stomach as she looked up to his full height; tiny flecks of grey had started to show through in his hair and his reading glasses were hanging from the breast pocket of his jacket, and she found him to be ever so distinguished and more handsome than ever.

He gave her a small smile, momentarily distracted from the piece of paper that was hidden in his palm.

"I suppose that now is as good a time as any."

"Hang on a minute."

She transferred Robbie and the stuffed robin toy he was clutching into the arms of Evie, their receptionist, and used her fingers to pick almost unidentifiable bits of fluff from the lapels of the suit jacket John wore.

"Once a spider monkey..." she heard him mutter under his breath, and she gave a little laugh.

"You're all good to go."

He gave her hand a small squeeze to show his affection, and then he was standing at the head of the room, ready to address the crowd.

Anna took in a breath, the fluttering that was in her stomach rising up to her chest. Years ago she never thought that such a thing would be possible, even if she never had the least bit of doubt about his abilities to charm an audience. It was just the case that he was ever so modest and always shunned the least bit of spotlight, preferring for someone else to take his place.

"First of all, myself and my wife would like to extend our warmest gratitude to all of you for choosing to spend at least some of your Christmases with us here, if not in every case all of them. We are humbled and honoured, and consider ourselves very lucky that the Swallow Bank has continued to be so successful."

A keen sense of pride came over her as she listened to John speak so eloquently, placing her hand upon Will's shoulder as he stood firm by her side.

"My wife will tell you all that I am a man of few words, and I'm not sure that there's much new to be said in these circumstances, so I will simply say that our family wish the merriest of Christmases to all of you and thank you all from the bottom of our hearts for getting to know us all and for enjoying your stays enough to come back, in many instances."

He raised the glass of spiced tea that was in his hand.

"Here's to a peaceful and prosperous New Year, and we hope to see many of you again as it endures. Thank you."

A round of applause flowed throughout the room, Anna clapping her hands the loudest.

He smiled in gratitude, stepping to the side slightly. "And now as another treat, our eldest child William would like to sing you all a Christmas song. I'm sure that you'll all know the words so please, do join in after the first verse."

Anna bent down to Will's height, giving him a final dusting off and smoothing his hair into place before he went forward.

"The very best of luck, sweet pea," she whispered to him, her stomach tightening.

She started to feel some of John's concerns as she watched their son stand where her husband had previously been. He looked so small – but ever so smart – and she wanted nothing more to rush up and wrap her arms about him, taking him away from the gathering and instead tuck him into bed where he would wait patiently for the magic of the morning.

Samuel, their deputy, played the first notes at the piano and Will's blue eyes widened as he looked about, perhaps not quite expecting to have such an audience.

 _Oh, please_ , she thought,  _let him be alright_.

In the next second, his voice sounded out, so clear and bringing tears immediately springing to her eyes.

_O come, all ye faithful_

_Joyful and triumphant_

_O come ye, o come ye_

_To Bethlehem_

_Come and behold Him_

_Born the King of Angels_

Memories came flooding back in a rush; she could never hear this carol without thinking of that Christmas when she had felt near her lowest, ready to surrender the smallest bits of hope that she had clung desperately onto. And then, just in time, she had received the most wonderful surprise that she could possibly wish for.

Her heart filled up with the same warmth on hearing their boy sing the song, word perfect and impeccably in tune. She was the proudest mother that there could be, her cheeks glowing nearly as much as the Christmas tree as she stood, feeling ten feet tall.

With gentle voices, not wishing to intrude the boy's starring moment, the guests began to accompany him with their own singing.

_O come, let us adore Him_

_O come, let us adore Him_

_O come, let us adore Him_

_Christ the Lord_

The song continued with Will finishing the verse he had so diligently rehearsed and he took a bow with a smile on his rosy cheeks before scurrying off to his parents, sisters and brother, still held by Evie, while their guests continued with the rest.

"Did I do it well?" he asked, the most earnest of expressions on his face.

"Oh, Will," Anna crouched down to him again, holding her arms out and pulling him into a tight hug, stroking her hands at either side of his head, "you were wonderful."

The joyful smile he wore disappeared for a moment as he stood back on his heels to observe her.

"But you're crying."

"People don't only cry when they're sad, son," John said, his voice sounding somewhat distant to her from her current position. "They can cry when they're happy too, and you made Mummy very happy and proud. As I am too."

Emma and Charlotte ran in either side of William to cheer and hug him too, and while the girls made a circle around their brother, John helped Anna back to her feet, a comforting smile written upon his face.

"Memories?" he asked gently.

She nodded her head, unable to speak for a moment or two.

"I know," he said in reply, his hand held at the small of her back, "we're lucky we've made so many new ones since then."

She broke into a smile as his other hand cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing and printing circles upon her skin.

"It's too early to say it yet."

Anna shook her head, the day not yet begun having started long ago since within her heart.

"Merry Christmas, John."

His eyes burned their deep amber as crinkles embedded themselves at their corners.

"Merry Christmas, my darling."

As happiness filled the room, stoked by the family who had worked together to create such a wonderful evening, a new song's harmony lifted in the air, high in spirit and hopeful in peace – a combination that was always sought at this time of year.

_Hark the herald angels sing_

' _Glory to the newborn King!_

_Peace on earth and mercy mild_

_God and sinners reconciled'_

_Joyful, all ye nations rise_

_Join the triumph of the skies_

_With the angelic host proclaim:_

' _Christ is born in Bethlehem'_

_Hark! The herald angels sing_

' _Glory to the newborn King!'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have in my mind that this Christmas Future is in 1931...although perhaps I have made the children seem a little too old for their years, whoops. And hopefully I haven't given you a sugar overdose before Christmas arrives!


End file.
